The-Boy-Who-Couldn't-Die
by ALittleMoreSonic
Summary: Jack isn't the only person death can't hold. Harry Potter discovers that he just can't die, a power that really comes in handy with a dark wizard after you.
1. Prolouge

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Following the terrible and joyous events on Halloween, the Wizarding World scrambled for an explanation for a toddler surviving the most powerful dark lord in living memory. Purebloods paraded the triumph as the Potter ancestry coming through despite Harry's mudblood mother. This was false. Renowned experts in magical theory speculated that Lily and James preformed a variation of the Fraudens Mortem, or cheating death ritual, negating the dark side-effects by using themselves as willing sacrifices. This was also false. The Unspeakables found the evidence contradictory, so the official Ministry report stated the cause as a "magical anomaly", which is the official term for "Merlin knows how". This was closer to the truth. Dumbledore privately thought it was the power of Lily's love, and this was true in a sort of roundabout way.

The truth, though nobody knew, was that sometime between graduating and marrying Lily Evans stumbled upon a blue police box.

The Doctor and Lily, they ran together throughout the whole of time and space. But that's a different story. Our story, the one of Harry's survival, begins at the end of it.

The two landed on the planet Pysphordia and became involved in the villagers' fight against the Euclidiates. The Euclidiates looked like little puppies, with their big, floppy ears and tiny purple bodies. But they were vicious carnivores out of nightmares that fed on the minds of others, using their psychic powers to invade deep inside their victim's consciousness. Lily knew occlumency, that alone was enough to defend herself against them, and in addition the villagers equipped her with a psychic dampening wristband. She was safe. At least, that's what everyone thought.

What actually happened was the wristband dampened her occlumency. She didn't realize because at the moment was a bit busy running for her life. It still would have been fine, except in the process of running for her life a tree branch caught the wristband. In a panic, she pulled as hard as she could. Even then, it still would have been fine, but the villagers had little high-quality supplies due to the war, and the leather strap, already nearly ripped, tore in two. The Euclidiates took her.

The Doctor did not take this news very well. The Euclidiates are extinct now.

Somehow, the Doctor managed to carry Lily back to the TARDIS. She lay too still, but not quite dead. However, with each passing moment more brain cells ruptured. The TARDIS sensed this, and with her knowledge of time itself, knew how to save her. She opened her heart and looked into Lily. A moment later, Lily Evans opened her eyes, the Euclidiates burned out of her head. The next moment, she started to burn too.

Normally, it would be the vortex energy that would kill her, but fortunately vortex energy is close enough to magical energy that her core absorbed enough of it to keep her alive, although she fell unconscious. In this case, the infinite knowledge of time and space contained in the vortex burned her mind. She had to forget.

Fast forward to Halloween night, Lily stood between Voldemort and her only son. Desperately, she searched her mind for, something, anything, to save her Harry. A mother's love is the most powerful force in the universe. So powerful, Lily remembered.

She knew every possibility and might-have-been of the universe. She saw every particle that existed, exists, or will exist. She knew how to create and destroy with only a thought. Not Bad Wolf, that name belonged to another. She was Mother Storm, the one who raged across lands, raining down life-giving water and striking enemies with fire that burned hotter than the sun. Her son received the water, Voldemort the fire. As her last act before falling, she marked her son, her little Harry, with a lightning bolt as a sign to all that the boy was protected.

_AN: This is my first ever fanfiction. Critiques are welcome. The background may seem a bit crazy, but considering some of the explanations in Doctor Who it doesn't seem that far-fetched to me. Then again, I'm a bit crazy myself.  
_


	2. 10 Years Later

Harry Potter wasn't sacred. By all rights he should have been. Even the most prepared first year would have no chance of defeating a fully grown troll. Harry had no weapons except a single spell learnt that afternoon, no defenses, and no plan. But he had no room for fear. He was _angry. _How dare somebody hurt his friend? How _dare_ somebody lay a single finger on _somebody he cared about_? Not while Harry Potter still draws breath.

Rage crowded out his fear, but unfortunately also clouded his judgment and survival instincts. Only after the troll began to lumber toward him did he realize that maybe getting its attention was a bad idea. Thankfully, Ron managed to distract the brute long enough for Harry to scramble over to Hermione.

"Come on, run, _run_!" Harry cried. However, he could not shake Hermione from her shock. Glancing back at the door, his heart skipped a beat.

The troll charged Ron, his best mate, his first friend. Time would stop before that would happen. Without thinking of anything besides how the troll _will not hurt Ron, _he did the first thing that came to mind. He sprinted toward the troll. Running, jumping, grabbing its neck, then without hesitation he shoved his wand up its nose. A small, distant part of his mind recoiled with disgust. The rest focused entirely on not falling off or slamming into the wall. Dimly, he heard his friends shouting below. A thump caused all the troll's struggles to cease. Too late, Harry realized the troll was falling. Backwards. On top of him.

Ron and Hermione found themselves next to the troll. They didn't remember walking over, or kneeling down, but that's how they found themselves, so they assumed they must have walked or run over. Together they pushed the troll off their friend with wordless, unplanned yet synchronized and efficient teamwork, the kind when both parties think the same thing at the same time. _What… how… no?_ They asked themselves. _But he can't… is it real? No no nonono, can't be!_

The two looked at Harry, unseeing. They saw but did not see the blood seeping into his robes and trickling down into the cracks on the stone floor, the unnatural angle of his arm, legs and neck, the stillness of his chest. They knew Harry must be dead, but they did not believe.

"Harry… wa- wake up."

"Mate, we'll just- just… just get you to the hos… hospital wing."

"You'll be fine… you hear?"

Simultaneously they started sobbing. Hermione reached for Ron and Ron accepted the embrace. Together they cried.

Their sobs and grief drowned out the shallow gasp for breath marking Harry's return to life. They didn't hear his groan as he sat up with sore muscles. They even didn't notice when he called their names, worry evident in his tone. It was, however, impossible to miss his uncertain touch on their arms.

The next moment Harry found himself besieged by relieved babbles and sobs, threats and promises.

"I swear, Harry, if you ever do that again, I'll… I'll never forgive you. You scared me so mu-"

"You're alright! You're really okay! I can't belie-"

"I'm sorry! It's all my fault! I never should have-"

"We thought for a minute that-"

"My word!"

The three whipped their heads toward Professor McGonagall and the other teachers in the doorway. They tried to look apologetic, but the expression they managed was more traumatized than anything else. McGonagall and Snape looked the bloodstained robes, the bloodless troll, and back to the robes and began casting diagnostic and healing spells with an efficiency that can only be gained through too much experience with the dead and dying. To their puzzlement, the results revealed only minor scratches and bruises.

"What happened? Are you okay?" Professor McGonagall demanded.

After a moment it became clear to Harry that Ron and Hermione wouldn't or couldn't talk about it. "Well," he began, staring at his feet, "Hermione was in the bathroom when Professor Quirrell announced that there was a troll, so we were just going to warn her,"

"Why did you not tell a Professor? Or a prefect?" Snape interrupted, his demeanor even more unpleasant than usual.

Harry shrugged. "Wasn't thinking, I guess. So we found Hermione in the bathroom and the troll's there, too, it's attacking her, and there wasn't enough time to get help so we tried to distract it and then it went after Ron and I didn't know what to do so I jumped on top of it and stuck my wand in its nose and it tries to shake me off and then it fell I don't know why it fell but it fell on top of me and then I wake up with blood all over me but I'm not bleeding." He said it all in one breath, in a matter-of-fact tone.

There was a moment of silence in which Quirrell, who had been examining the troll, removed, cleaned and returned Harry's wand, McGonagall stared at the students, pale-faced, and Snape closed his eyes and appeared to be counting to ten.

McGonagall spoke first, "Go to the hospital wing and have Madame Pomfrey check you out. We'll talk tomorrow at seven in my office. I trust you all will be prompt."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione chorused a "Yes ma'am," and did as instructed. Madam Pomfrey couldn't decipher how Harry's blood, and she checked, it definitely was his, covered his robes in an amount that should've caused him to faint from blood loss, yet Harry didn't have a scratch on him.

Professor McGonagall decided that they had been punished enough by the experience. People started to notice that the three seemed more cautious, less inclined toward exploring the castle, and they always sat next to each other. When he thought they weren't looking, Harry gazed at them with an expression halfway between guilt and worry. At night, Hermione had nightmares of Harry's too still body. When that happened, she would wander down to the common room to Ron, who always seemed to be up when she was and they would sit. Nobody else could understand. Eleven is a magical age. Little boys and girls still believe in happy endings. The golden trio wasn't eleven anymore. Sure, they played and laughed like young children, but at night, it all changed. They were the young adults, wanting to believe that everything will be fine, but lying awake in bed with what-ifs and doubts.

_AN: I am so sorry for the delay. I really don't have any excuse. Finals, I guess, plus I couldn't decide if I liked the narration style so I thought about rewriting it but decided not to because I didn't want to delay it any longer. So anyway, thanks so much for the reviews! Seriously, that's what finally got me to stop procrastinating and just post it._


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